


Normal, For a Change

by Birdgirl



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Regency silver snuffboxes, Snow Day, puppy dog eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:30:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl/pseuds/Birdgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Aziraphale wants to do is some collector's browsing, having stumbled upon a rather exquisite find of the regency silver snuffbox variety. Crowley just wants to go to lunch. Gratuitous fluff ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal, For a Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gavin_F](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gavin_F/gifts).



> For the Crowley to my Azi. You know who you are <>

On days in the winter where the ground is white and the overhangs are littered with icicles, and the duck pond at Saint James' park has frozen over with a thin layer of ice, it seems as if the whole of Britain is silent, lazy, and relaxed.

There is no flapping of duck wings, no bushes or grasses or greenery save the small patch of evergreens, weighted down by snow. There are hardly any people outside, the hustle and bustle saved for inside offices or in the conversation of the families who have opted to stay home, as opposed to braving the white blanket that covers the area.

Ever since the commotion of a few years ago, when piles of fish covered the sigil-shaped highway and trees grew faster than demons ran away from blessed water, and a little boy had the world at his feet and its life in his hands, the weather had been beautifully irregular. Ever since Adam had come into charge, he'd let his powers dwindle around the areas of lower Tadfield and Soho, letting the summers get hot and the winters bring snow.

There was no strangely perfect weather anymore, and though the area was no longer known for having the best, most consistent weather around, this was more natural, and people noticed. When the weather had first gotten nippy, it took a while for the ducks to figure out this was their queue, but nobody seemed to mind their slip-up. Who could blame them, after all?

But fly South they did, along with the other birds and insects. The squirrels caught themselves earlier, it seemed, burrowing in trees and homes under roots, glad that they'd saved nuts for a snowy day that they never thought would happen. No, nobody had really expected the weather to suddenly be like they'd heard the rest of the world was, changing with seasons and precipitating at random intervals. It was almost like they lived in Britain, or something.

Not all the beings living in the area were pleased with the changes, though. Yes, there were children that were occasionally seen buried in coats and scarves and mittens, littering snowmen across the neighborhood yards. And undoubtedly there were young couples that walked around leisurely, holding hands and whispering giddily through the marketplace whose normally busy atmosphere had taken a decidedly mellow turn.

But one couple, much different from the young chaps and ladies making doe eyes and window shopping around the streets, had a decidedly different outlook on the day. One of the beings, for all intents and purposes, looked like a stout, jolly middle aged man with curly blonde hair covered in tartan. A first impression of him would call him kind, intelligent, and gayer than a hospital patient on morphine dosage , though how one would make those assumptions was uncertain.

As it was, Aziraphale was currently bent over a market table, looking at the merchandise there. His wire frame glasses hung off the edge of his nose as he peered over them, taking in the shine of the snow off meticulously polished metalwork. It ranged from watches, to flasks, to what he was currently focused on- a silver regency snuffbox. And better yet, one that he hadn't bought before.

When he turned to talk to the shopkeeper, his shoulder brushed against the other half of the couple, who stood straight up and firm, but relaxed almost imperceptibly at the touch. Crowley was a good bit taller, with long raven black hair tied up in a ponytail behind his head, and sunglasses which hid his eyes from whoever would look at his pale, hard cheekbones and face. His apparel was quite different as well, an overcoat atop a black suit, red tie somehow accentuating his appearance as professional, but not necessarily a business type.

This being was not interested in snuffboxes as much as the first character. In fact, though he had nothing against them, he wasn't particularly interested in snuffboxes at all. He was tired, and hungry, and the bitter chill that came with the newfound frost reminded him too much of another place. He decided enough was enough, and would act accordingly.

"Angel, this is the third place we've stopped at and it's hardly lunchtime. Now, are we going to find some place to bloody eat, or should I just sit here and starve to death?"

Aziraphale sighed, pausing his talk with the shopkeeper momentarily with a short apology, turning sideways to give the demon a look that was half exasperation, half pleading, whispering his displeasure.

"Dear, you can't starve. We don't depend on earthly sustenance-"

"But it's been three blessed hours already, Angel!" he whispered back just as heatedly. "How much longer are we going to be-"

"Oh, but please, dear? I just wanted to take a look at this one last suffbox, I promise-"

"You promised the lasssst three sssnuffboxes would be the last ones!"

"You're hissing, Dear."

Crowley looked up to the heave- upwards towards- ugh, he just threw his head back and groaned. He couldn't care less who heard him 'Up There'. Aziraphale, who had paid no mind and went back to browsing, started when the demon grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him out of earshot. Once sufficiently so, he loosened his grip, Aziraphale snapping his hand back to cross his arms over his chest.

"Crowley, honestly! What in Heaven's- well, in Hell's- or, wherever's name is this for? Couldn't we have just stayed a few more minutes?"

"We've stayed plenty long enough, Angel. You invited me to lunch, not to shop for snuffboxes-"

"Well, if I'm boring you, it's not as if you have any obligation to stay!" he huffed petulantly. "You're a demon of your own will, if you really wanted to go you could have done so by now, instead of complaining this entire ti-"

When Aziraphale stopped talking this time, it wasn't because he had been interrupted. His mouth shut itself as Crowley reached a black gloved hand up to his own sunglasses, tilting them to the edge of his nose so he could peer over and down to the angel's own. His sclera was golden, like a serpent's, iris stretched and practically screaming snakelike in nature. The glinting reflection of the snow around them made the eyes all the more bright, giving them both an ancient and wonderful quality.

They were accented ever more by Crowley's facial features, eyebrows furrowed inward and up and lips taking the customary 'pout' position. It was the demon's best rendition of puppy dog eyes, and it was just a tad convincing. Alright, maybe more than a tad. But the angel wouldn't let him win, not this time. There were snuffboxes to be had- and regencies, at that!

"Now, don't you dare Crowley- I'll not be swayed by those fake sad eyes. Tempting may be your job but there's no use buttering me up because it won't work-"

Somehow, the eyes got more intense in that moment. Crowley's lip quivered just a little bit, and of course Aziraphale KNEW it was fake, he was just trying to get the angel's goat, this wouldn't work…

"Please, Angel? I've been very patient and it really is getting late for lunch time, isn't it?"

 

Oh, what the Hell.

 

Aziraphale sighed, straightening his glasses and trying not to show how well that had worked on him.

"Alright, alright Dear. How do you fancy the Ritz?"

Not that it mattered to any of the other couples walking around the streets there, or the shopkeeper selling metalwork (who, truth be told, was a bit glad not to have to deal with another one of those 'collector' types; regency snuffboxes? really?). The ducks and birds and bees that had migrated south could have probably cared less, and Adam was probably too busy with The Them to take notice. Not that it mattered to anyone else, but Aziraphale was quite happy when Crowley closed the distance between their hands and laced their fingers. It was just another snowy day, and it was quite nice to be normal, for a change.


End file.
